One Scarred Promise
by Etherealness
Summary: The duel was over, and Albus Dumbledore had won. Still, he has yet to recover from all the wounds he received, both physical and psychological, from the one man he had ever loved. It went back all the way to a brilliant summer in Godric's Hollow, when a promise was discarded.


The ceiling was a blinding white. He couldn't help but shiver.

"Quick. Pass the liquefied bezoar, 3c.c."

His ragged robe was torn open. Two people held him down to stop his persistent trembling. He vaguely felt a syringe being inserted into his right arm. Eight different counter-curses were performed on him in quick succession.

"Internal hemorrhaging. Need to stop it before he work up to cardiac arrest." Another wand swam into his blurred sight. He flinched involuntarily. His abdomen burned. "Give me dragon blood tree extract and blood replenishing potion."

Two strong hands forced his mouth open. He choked on the potions. The liquid singed his throat and inflamed his stomach. He no longer have the strength to draw another breathe.

"Mr. Dumbledore. Stay with us." A voice said, insistent. He was so tired, though. Head, limbs, body, everywhere ached. He couldn't think. He didn't want to think. All he could feel was his body, burning and hurting. He had never been in so much agony.

"Severe magic depletion. Don't let him lose consciousness." He could no longer see, but dimly he was aware of three different healing charms casted on him. "Hypothermia. I need diluted Ghost Orchid essence."

Somehow, he was naked.

"A torn tendon in the right role. Third degrees burn on the left thigh and shin. The sixth rib healed improperly."

Who put him in so much pain?

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

What is that?

For a brief moment, his entire existence became the mechanical sound.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Then he became aware of the coldness. He was so cold, his body so numb. He was coldness. All he could feel was cold, cold, cold.

His back ached. He wanted to stir, but found himself unable to do so – his body would not budge. The thought of stirring tired him. There was a whimper. It took him a while to realize he was the one that whimpered.

Running footsteps. Who was it? Friend or foe? He suddenly realized that he did not know where he had left his wand. Or the Elder Wand. Could he have lost the Elder Wand? How could he have lost the Elder Wand?

"Mr. Dumbledore! Are you awake?"

A bright light was shone into his eyes, left, and then right. He could not remember the reason he felt the urge to reach for the Elder Wand. That wasn't his wand. He only knew that, somehow, that wand was important. That wand was his life.

His mind faded into the infinite blackness.

He stood on the battlefield. Beside him a whole forest had been uprooted in the crossfire as he and Grindelwald dueled. He could not see the other man, but a huge tornado was sent whirling toward him. The monstrous wind engulfed the earth and blackened the sky. Wand waving to build a complex shield, Albus muttered counter-curse under his breath to prevent the dark magic from spreading up his left foot. The tornado collided with his shield, throwing him several steps backward. He poured all strength into upholding the thinning barrier. He wasn't sure how long his feet would hold before collapsing.

Wand still trained to hold the shield, he concentrated on channeling raw magic into the ground below. The forgotten words of the _Nahuatl languages tumbled from his lips_. The Ancient Force rumbled the earth. He needed to unleash it now before Grindelwald became aware of it also.

With a strained cry, he let go of the shield. The tornado slammed right into his body, carrying him off the ground as dozens of rocks hit his body. Simultaneously, he sensed the ground transforming. Without seeing it, he felt huge columns of rock and earth surged up through the ground. Large spikes taller than man grew from the land in a split second, radiating from the stop that he had stood. The earth has crystalized.

Suddenly, the tornado disappeared. He dropped to the ground painfully. Despite landing in the only untransformed part of the land, he still heard a dull "crack" that indicated a broken rib. Standing up carefully, he quickly casted a spell to heal the rib. As his opponent is probably still trapped somewhere within the spiky maze, he could have a moment to recover his strength and prepare the next fatal curse.

"Albus, do you know how long I have been searching for you?"

He turned about violently. Any word he was about to say was caught in his throat. There he was, Gellert, wearing a plain tunic he had worn that summer in Godric's Hollow, three books tucked under his arm, his youthful face sparking in delight. He gave him an impish grin, one that stole his breath away. "Albus, why are you scarred? Who hurt you?"

He couldn't speak. His voice was broken. If he as much as open his mouth, he would scream. His face was just as he remembered, before ambition and dark art tainted his features: smooth skin, proud nose and ocean-blue eyes. Gellert casted him a worried glance. He took two steps forward, and looked into his eyes intensely. Albus flinched under his interrogative stare. "Tell me what's wrong." The gentleness in his voice shattered his very core. It was the same voice that had captured his heart all those summers ago. It was that very voice that had made love to him. "I don't know how you could allow anyone to hurt you like this, Albus. You're too strong for any of them."

When he was silent, Gellert spoke again. "Come, there's still so much we could do together." He nodded numbly, still too afraid to speak. Gellert took his left hand, giving him a gentle tug. They began moving through the maze of crystallized soil. Still in shock, Albus allowed his companion to lead, focusing his attention on the slender, unblemished hand that held his bloodied one.

Gellert stopped. He turned around, smiling almost apologetically. His golden curl glimmered under the sun. Albus stood, horror-struck, as Gellert's face morphed into a ruthless mask. He found himself face-to-face with a much older Grindelwald. He was pointing the Elder Wand mercilessly at his throat. Grindelwald smirked, lips half-parted to mutter a lethal curse.

The grief was all too much to take in. Losing Gellert once was crippling. Twice was excruciating.

The scream was deafening. Albus wished he could cover his ears with hands, but his hands lay immobile at his sides.

"Healer Benziger, he is having a nightmare. Are you sure we cannot give him the draught of living death?"

His eyes shot open. He had been screaming. His throat was throbbing. The brightness that greeted his sight forced him to close his eyes again. However, as soon as he closed his eyes he could see Gellert again, young and old, loving and uncaring. He forced his eyes to open. Anything away from that torturous image!

"Mr. Dumbledore. Are you with us?" It was a kind female voice laced with an accent. A face drew near. It was a middle-aged woman, her face wrinkled with concern. He turned his head on the pillow. He was in a spacious hospital room, with several sterilized monitors standing beside his bed. There were three other medical personas nearby, who all looked prepared to bolt if he had a seizure.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

He nodded. It was more like the purgatory.

"I understand. Mr. Dumbledore, I need to perform a check-up on you to make sure everything is in place. Could you speak?" She passed him a glass of water, and helped him to sit up to drink.

He tried a couple of times. "Yes." His voice was hoarse.

"Good, Mr. Dumbledore. Could you tell me your full name and profession?"

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration, Head of Gryffindor House, Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts, also member of the Wizengamot and International Confederation of Wizards. Could you please tell me where I am?"

"My name is Larissa Benziger, Chief Healer in the Department of Critical Care in Geneva International Hospital for Wizards and Witches in Switzerland. The ICW has decided that it would be most prudent for you to remain in a neutral nation until you are recovered enough to return to United Kingdom. Rest assured that our hospital would do its utmost to restore your health. I am afraid that as of now all the visitors had been hold back, as the hospital has a strict privacy policy. However, if you would like to, we could arrange for family and friends to visit."

He nodded. There will be no family visiting. "What day is it?"

"Today is April 23."

"Five day…" It had been five days since the duel, five days since he last saw Gellert Grindelwald. The dream flooded back at him? Gellert holding his hand and Grindelwald pointing his wand at him. In his confused mind he could no longer tell the dream from the reality, nor did he know which he prefer. "Please, please, will you tell me what happened?"

Healer Benziger must have noticed his paling complexion, for she immediately eased him back into the laying position. "Now, Mr. Dumbledore, please don't stress your body. You have gone through an ordeal. What is the last thing you remember?"

Pain. Excruciating pain that burnt in his legs and chest. The earth was charred. The air was heavy with blood and magical residue. A figure lied crumbled to the ground, thick blonde hair falling to cover his face. When he raised his head, the ocean-blue eyes were filled with pure contempt. "There were two wands in my hand."

"I am glad you remember, Mr. Dumbledore. You ended the war. Right now people were singing your name on the streets. Your deed has gone down to the history books."

That was more than he wanted to hear. To remember so clearly the sensation of those two wands in his hand was nauseating. He needed to know, though. "Where are my wands?"

"Mr. Dumbledore, you are not recovered enough to do cast any…"

"Please, could you give me my wands?" Healer Benziger must have sensed the inexplicable despair in his tone, for she crossed over the room to open a safe deposit box. With a complex wave of her wand, the small metal door swung open. She returned quickly, and held out both wands to him. "I must warm you, Mr. Dumbledore, that you suffered a fifth degree magical depletion. You should not attempt any magic for the next week, at least, to let your magic core recover."

He didn't hear that though. All he could see was the knotted wand in front of him, the very one two fanatic boys vowed to search together once upon a time. He ran his finger over the textured wood, and held it tightly in his hand. _This was the last thing Gellert was holding_. The thought pushed him over his edge. All those hidden memories tucked away by Occlumency, secret emotions never spoken came flooding out. He had betrayed himself and his family for that man, and that man had betrayed him in return.

A wounded howl escaped his lip.

The next time he woke up, it was to the sound of loud banging. The idea of an attack immediately entered his mind. He sat up straight in his bed, and grasped the two wands on his bed stand tightly. Participation in the latter part of the war had ingrained paranoia in his brain. He felt dizzy for sitting so abruptly in bed. A wound somewhere on his calf must have been torn, for he felt a searing pain emanating from there.

Healer Benziger noticed him. She immediately rushed over. "Mr. Dumbledore! Please relax. We are sorry to wake you. It's the Supreme Mugwump from ICW and a horde of reporters. They are trying to gain entrance in spite of our warning."

Noting the Healer's distress, and sensing the inevitable, he said: "Please allowed the Supreme Mugwump in, Ms. Benziger. If you could, though, bar all the reports." He quietly tucked the wands into his sleeves. Healer Benziger was less than pleased. She reminded Albus of his fragile health, and swore to threaten the Mugwump should he impose more stress on her patient. Eventually, Albus reminded her that those people would find a way in no matter what, and she relented.

An aged man wearing embroidered sage green robe and a sympathetic smile walked in. His white hair and beard were trimmed immaculately to his shoulders, and a pair of glasses perched at his nose. He sat himself in a conjured chair, and folded his arms on his knees. It was Cottismore Crovne, and Albus could already sense a long speech coming.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dumbledore." The old man said. "Please do not sit up. I understand that after you are still recovering from the significant contribution you have made to the Wizarding World. I am here to bring you the most sincere wish for a speedy recovery, from me personally as from all those wizards and muggles you have delivered from the dark regime."

Even though that was the last thing he wanted to hear, not replying seemed too rude. "Thank you, Supreme Mugwump."

"No, no, no, none of that," the old man said quickly. "Please, call me Cottismore."

He hoped to get over the pleasantries as soon as possible. "Only if you'd call me by my first name."

Crovne positively beamed. He then droned on about the celebrations that would be thrown in his name in all parts of Europe, about the changing of the tide in the muggle war, about the titles, honors and privileges that Albus would receive, and about the thousands of well-wishing presents that had arrived at the hospital over the past weeks. Albus was silent throughout the monotonous words, and only bade the Supreme Mugwump to donate all the presents to the war orphans.

"There is a matter I would like to consult with you, Albus," Corvne said, changing his tone completely. "You should know this quite well. Grindelwald was placed in temporary custody. In accordance with the ancient custom of Wizard's Duel, though, the winner could decide the fate of the opponent. Since you have defeated him in a duel, you have the full right to decide the fate of Gellert Grindelwald."

Albus felt a lump formed in his throat. It was hard, hearing about the event of the duel. He had passed the last few days in delirious state. His mind constantly drifted between dreams, memories, hallucinations and reality. Healer Benziger had explained it as posttraumatic stress disorder. He kept reliving the duel, but each time the details changed a little. In one of the version, he killed Gellert accidentally with one strayed spell. In other version, Gellert held him at wand point with cold blood. Sometimes, he successfully disarmed Gellert, only to find that Ariana trembling on the ground, her eyes vacant and dead.

Anything could have triggered a flashback, to the poor healers' distress. Sometimes he drifted back to the happier memories in Godric's Hollow, but those, too, were contorted by subliminal fear, guilt and desire. Gellert might be kissing him passionately at one moment, but dueling him next. He also hallucinated the Cruciatus Curse. Sometimes he performed it on Gellert, and sometimes Gellert performed it on him. In either cases, he did not know whether he wished the curse to continue or to stop. But always, always, those scenes ended with a flashing of blinding green.

"What do you think about it, Albus?"

Crovne's voice broke him out of his trance. Surprising, he found that he had an answer ready.

"Put him in Nurmengard, for good. Guard over him. He should spend the rest of his days there."

The Mugwump thought for a few moments. "Very well, Albus, it will be done. I will send people to oversee the project. He will be moved as soon as possible."

Albus sighed. "I will need to fortify Nurmengard myself. It is highly likely that he had deliberately leave weaknesses in the magical barrier." The idea was terrifying. To think that he would be have to glimpse the fate that he condemn Gellert to…

At that moment, Healer Benziger hurried across the room. "Supreme Mugwump, you have overstayed the visiting time. Please let the patient rest." The old man sighed, but raised graciously from his chair.

"Just a moment, please," he asked Crovne. "Could you tell me how is he?"

"He? He as in Grindelwald?" Crovne could not mask his surprise, but he gave in at Albus's expression. "He is also being treated for various injuries and magical fatigue, but to my knowledge he was just quiet. His guards report him as detached and aloof, and quite understandably too, if I can add. He has, after all, just lost everything that he has been aspiring too." He said in grim satisfaction.

Albus' heart also broke again. _Is he not the only one that lost all aim and purpose in life then? Is he not alone in feeling this utter loneliness?_ "Did he say anything…anything at all…about me?"

The old man blinked. "Yes, actually. Usually he does not talk at all, but time I saw him, he waved me over. He told me to pass a few words to you." Crovne scratched his head. "'It was me,' was what he said. There was nothing else."

Albus was never sure whether Gellert Grindelwald had spoken out of truth, or sympathy, but his eyes burnt with tears again. The Supreme Mugwump was shooed out of the ward. When Healder Benziger finally discovered the wound he had torn earlier, the mattress with soaked with congealed blood.

It took him ten days to redevelop a semi-normal sleeping patterns, two weeks to start walking unsupported, a full month to stop reliving each second of the battle. The nightmare still visited from time to time, though. Before he returned to England, Healer Benziger had supplied a couple psychiatrists specialized with posttraumatic stress disorder. That had never seen a case like Albus' of course. His case was completely unique, a mixture of guilt, grief, suppression and passion that lasted for almost half a century. The therapy helped very little.

His life regained some form of routine after that. He attended the award ceremonies, interviews and honor banquets with stoic indifference. Teaching filled most of his time. To prevent himself from remembering, he plunge himself into learning, researching and ten-pin bowling. He mothered his students. He smiled a true genuine smile on Miss McGonagall's graduation ceremony. He accepted the post of the headmaster.

"Albus, would you like to perform _Amor est unio_ with me?"

Funny how so short a sentence took him by complete surprise. _Amor est unio_, that was the universal marital binding spell in the Wizarding World. He had known Gellert for almost two month now. Despite their passionate interactions, that always had been a small doubt in his heart, whispering that Gellert is manipulating his emotions for his own end. There was also fear, fear that Gellert would disappear one day as suddenly as he had appeared in his life. _Amor est unio_ was a promise of forever, together.

"Albus, do you not want this?" His voice was concerned. "Are you afraid?"

Yes. No. Yes. How could he convey the fear and ecstasy that pour through him? Not to mention that homosexual marriage was still a taboo, and that he and Gellert were still young, too young (though not young enough to be unable to perform the secret ceremony). But Gellert had assured him. If they were to create a new order, a brand-new empire, their relationship should no longer be hidden.

"Besides, using your rational mind, do you think you could ever grow tired of me?"

That did not need answering.

"Nor I, you."

They seal the promise with a kiss. In the end it was decided that they would carry it out two days later.

Of course, the contrary of that happened. His world was shattered and dissolved, his family broken and torn. And in the middle of chaos, he fled. The years after were spent in numbness, confusion, hatred and pain.

But a promise was still a promise, one that never fade with time.

When he was elected the new headmaster of Hogwarts after Amando's death, the governors deemed it prudent to dive into his personal background in the name of the school's honor. After all, it had a thousand years of tradition to uphold. Albus, though, was never one for the conventional.

One of them asked Albus his marital status.

"Engaged, but never to marry" was his answer.


End file.
